


Lace of flowers and laughter of sisters

by Elesianne



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Gen, Humour, Sister-Sister Relationship, Years of the Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:56:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26901757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elesianne/pseuds/Elesianne
Summary: Findis has a sister willing to go to great trouble, including committing fashion crimes, to ease her nervousness on her wedding day.
Relationships: Findis & Írimë | Lalwen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15
Collections: Finwëan Ladies Week 2020





	Lace of flowers and laughter of sisters

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Finwëan Ladies Week.

'Flowers for the sweet princess Findis on her happy day!' Írimë cries out as soon as Findis opens the door, shoving a huge bouquet into Findis' arms.

Findis cannot help but laugh and take the bouquet. The stems of the flowers scratch her bare arms. She is still in her nightdress. 'You are early', she says, letting Írimë in. 'Mother isn't even here yet.'

'She'll arrive when she does. I know that you'll be nervous so I've come to make you laugh', Írimë says, laying down her a bundle of clothing on a chair – her dress, no doubt. She is still in her dressing gown. 'In the meanwhile, we can have breakfast. I asked for some to be sent here. Enough for mother, too.'

'Thank you, that's very thoughtful of you. Alarca is not joining us, then?' Findis would happily welcome Írimë's wife to join in her wedding morning preparations. Alarca and Írimë married young while Findis herself is certainly not marrying young. She and Alarca have had years to become like sisters, too.

'No, she's helping Nolvo and Anairë with their young terrors, no doubt persuading Írissë into her dress while Nolvo and Anairë run circles after Arakáno. You know how much she likes them.'

'I do, and I see why. Írissë and Arakáno are adorable.' Findis sets the vase she found for the flowers on a table by the window and goes to look for her dressing gown, flung carelessly somewhere by Vórimo when he'd come to say her goodnight last night and one goodnight kiss had led to several, and a few wandering hands too.

Findis blushes as she picks the dressing gown from the floor by the door as discreetly as she can. It's a wonder Írimë hasn't noticed and made fun of her yet.

Írimë appears to be busy peering out the window, hands on her hips, her own bright purple dressing gown a lively shadow in the golden light pouring in. 'It looks like good weather', she announces. 'Barely any clouds. Even Manwë is glad that you're finally getting married.'

'Írimë!' Findis huffs, then laughs. 'You promised you wouldn't tease me about it any more. It is hardly my fault that I didn't happen to meet the one who is right for me before I was already past my youth.'

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' Írimë spreads her arms. 'I did promise. And I am here to serve you, dear sister, on this most happy day.' She executes a perfect yet also, somehow, ridiculous bow. 'I do mean to put you in a better mood, not to add your nervousness.'

She comes over to fuss with the flowers, rearranging them in the vase. 'I still find it strange, by the way', she says to Findis over her shoulder, 'that you were so nervous at your engagement feast and now about saying your marriage vows even though you perform before audiences every week.'

'True, I am not nervous when I am performing. But today is not a performance of music.' Findis sits down on the long blue settee that is the most comfortable piece of furniture in her sitting room.

There are butterflies in her stomach, and they are much less lovely there than among flowers. She does not know whether she can eat the breakfast when it arrives.

'You could treat it as a performance of sorts', Írimë suggests, sitting down next to Findis.

'Wouldn't that cheapen it?'

'I don't think anything can cheapen what you and Vórimo have.' Írimë knocks her shoulder into Findis's. 'It will all be well. It is a happy occasion for you – to everyone else besides you two, even, since neither of you appear to have left behind any spurned would-be lovers – and the part that takes part before a crowd of people is only a formality, anyway.'

Findis leans on her sister a little. 'I only wish I'd been able to persuade father not to invite half of Tirion and half of Valmar, and a good number of people from Taniquetil too.'

'There are no words yet invented that could persuade him not to throw a grand party for every one of his children and grandchildren who gets married. He loves happy gatherings like this more than anything else in life, I think sometimes.'

Findis smiles. 'Indeed, and that says no bad thing about him.'

'Hmm. Quite.'

They sit in silence, waiting for breakfast to be brought.

When it is, they carry it to the table by the window and just as they sit down to eat, their mother slips in the door. 'Good morning, girls!'

Lalwen and Findis roll their eyes at each other. They have not been girls for a long time.

'Good morning, mother', says Findis and gets up to get a hug and kiss from her mother, an inescapable and rather dear ritual.

'Findis is nervous', Írimë says baldly as soon as they have all sat down again. 'So perhaps we should talk of other things than her getting married today.'

They do. About Írimë's new horse, about little Írissë's refusal to wear anything but white and the amount of laundry that that refusal results in, about the song Findis and her mother have been composing together but did not quite manage to finish before Findis' wedding and imminent departure for Valmar.

'We can continue our collaboration by letter', Indis suggests.

Findis laughs and protests. 'You know what happens every time that we try that. We end up with two versions of the same song because both of us are too impatient to wait for the other's contributions.'

'That is true', Indis admits. 'Well, the song will keep until you return here or we meet on Taniquetil for a festival.'

Time passes strangely during the breakfast as it tends to do when one both dreads and looks forward to something, and soon it is time to dress. Indis slips into her glorious yet stately dress quickly and comes to lace Findis into hers, a confection of golden satin and lace, a mix of Vanyarin and Noldorin styles.

Findis smooths down the skirt, a little self-conscious of the dress that is bigger and showier than she usually wears. She turns around to ask Írimë, who has not seen her wedding dress before, what she thinks.

'What are you wearing!' she finds herself gasping in horror instead. By her side, Indis wheezes in laughter, bent almost in two, tears in her eyes.

Írimë is dressed already, her dress apparently simple enough to get into that she managed it on her own. But that is the only simple thing about it – it is an assault on the eyes in every other way.

Írimë grins, hands on her hips, happy as a clam in the monstrosity of a dress that combines bright orange and mint green. Strangely, both are colours that on their own look lovely on Írimë. Not at all strangely, they look horrible worn together.

And there are ruffles, and frills, and ribbons, far too much of all of them, dozen-fold compared to what Írimë, usually an impeccable dresser, tends to wear.

'Who made that for you?' Findis asks when Írimë gives a little twirl, all the better to draw attention to the clashing, supernumerary details of her horrible garment. 'What seamstress deigned to sew that for you, and what madwoman designed it?'

She does not know whether to laugh or cry.

'Do you not like it, sister? It is very special.' Írimë preens even more.

'So special as to cause blindness', their mother wheezes out before collapsing in a chair in laughter.

Findis approaches Írimë. 'Do you – do you like it?' she asks hesitantly.

Írimë smiles. 'Only because it made you forget your nervousness for a while.' She begins undressing herself. Still confused, Findis helps.

Írimë pulls another dress out of the folds of the linen fabric she'd brought the horrible dress wrapped in. Findis helps with that, too, and soon Írimë is wearing a lovely dress that is mint green but, significantly, not orange, and has no ruffles or frills whatsoever.

'Very nice', complements their mother who has finally recovered from her fit of laughter.

'A great improvement', Findis agrees. She cannot help laughing. 'The way your mind works, Írimë, to come up with surprising me with such a horror of a dress! And it is rather a waste of fabric and work, too.'

'There! I told you, mother, I was going to make her laugh on her wedding day.' Írimë grins and adds, 'Do not worry, Findis, the fabric and the work of the seamstress are not wasted. I intend on wearing the dress to the next party honouring Fëanáro or one of his brood.'

'You wouldn't', Findis says with half reproach and half laughter on her tongue, but she isn't quite sure what her sister is capable of.

'Hmm', says Írimë. 'I just might. But now! Look at you, sister.' She circles around Findis, making approving noises while Indis smiles fondly, looking at the both of them.

'You are a lovely sight, Findis', she says.

Findis does like her wedding dress, even if it is ostentatious. Eärwen made the lace for it, lace of golden flowers overlaid on lighter golden satin of silk. It has a long train of lace, too, the work of many skilled hands.

'You glow', Írimë declares at the end of her perusal. 'All of you. The dress goes very well together with your skin and hair.'

'Your hair does shine too, darling', Indis agrees.

'Never as much as yours.' Findis touches her hair, a little self-conscious about it. It is neither golden like her mother, Írimë and Arafinwë's nor very dark like Fëanáro and Nolofinwë's, but brown, a mix of her parents like her name.

'I am certain that your radiance will blind Vórimo, or at the very least strike him dumb, and not in the way that my other dress would have struck Alarca.' Írimë takes Findis's hand, and Indis the other. 'Let us take you to your eagerly awaiting beloved so you two can get married at last.'

They do, and Findis' cheeks hurt from how much she smiles that day.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://elesianne.tumblr.com/%22).
> 
> I do adore hearing what my readers think of my fics.


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